To Survive
by roxamarly
Summary: Before X-men:First Class. Erik s life after the concentration camp. He s finally free, yet he still can escape neither his memories nor Herr Doktor.  onesided Shaw/Erik later on. References to torture, non-con and overall awful things


**Warnings: Shaw,****inexplicit torture****, ****Shaw being a sadist, ****maybe some one-sided Shaw/Erik later on and an overall creepy Shaw  
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**So if you don't like it don't read. :P  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own X-men: First Class, any of the characters...though I'd really like some Michael Fassbender *O***

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_Is this hell? It certainly feels that way…_

_What did he do to deserve this? Would death be like this? Or…_

_Would it be salvation?_

_The sharp edge of the scalpel against his skin jolts him out of his reverie. Again, the cold comes crushing down onto his mind._

_The cold of the knife cutting into his chest, the cold of the metal surface he is strapped to and worst of all the cold gaze of HIM while HE says with a voice full of glee,_

"_Erik, du warst schon wieder abgelenkt . Nun, ich weiß, dass es dir schwerfällt, aber versuche dich zu konzentrieren."._

_Erik hates HIM. He wants to tell the sadistic doctor to go fuck himself, he wants to send the scalpel right through the man's damned head, but most of all he wants to escape this torture. Instead, he doesn't have the chance to do any of it. The moment he opens his mouth a scream rips through his throat. _

_Once again, the knife -cold, yet burning- bites into him and relieves him of any thoughts. His remaining warmth is leaving him too fast, seeping out of him in the shape of red._

_It's not too long before Erik only registers pain, screams that sound too distant to be his own, and _

… _**cold.**_

_That merciless, mind numbing, insufferable cold._

_And while listening to those agonized never-ending shrieks that Erik decides could not quite be his, he stares up through the blur clouding his vision, up into the smirking face of Herr Doktor._

_Right then and there the fourteen year old Erik comes to the conclusion that this indeed IS hell and death is salvation._

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><p>Erik woke up with a start. His chest was heaving, he was all but hyperventilating and cold beads of sweat were running up and down his body.<p>

Erik shuddered remembering the dream. Remembering the bleak room that smelled of antiseptics, thus giving of that nasty hospital vibe, the many torture devices in form of surgical and lab instruments and the mirth of his tormentor.

The sudden intense nausea that hit him in response wasn't too unexpected. Erik made it to the bathroom and threw his head over the toilet just in time to be violently sick. These days, he didn't eat much anymore and soon he was left dry-heaving in his panic.

He stayed even after calming down right there on the chilly tiled floor of his bathroom with his head resting against the edge of the ceramic seat. Although he wasn't strapped to the operating table anymore and the man was nowhere in sight, he still wasn't free of Herr Doktor. He was disgusted by himself.

With a heavy sigh he raised his still trembling hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. That made Erik notice he was shivering from the cold and the fear. He didn't like this, it reminded him of his nightmare.

_Nein, kein Alptraum. Alpträume sind nicht real…(1)_

_After a while Erik shakily stood. He couldn't sit there all night and, really, he was used to this by now. Back then, dreams like this one were a nightly occurrence and even now, two years later, they still happened more often than not._

_ After flushing he went to the sink to brush his teeth and wash his face. While looking up, though, he unfortunately caught sight of himself in the smeared mirror. He just couldn't stand his face. He still looked as weak as three years ago, when he was unable to save his mother._

_Erik was seventeen now. And while his jaw line and overall facial features got stronger and gave him a slightly older look he was still malnourished. Not as emaciated as after the camps but still not healthy, no doubt caused by his stomach's inability to keep it's contents and the poverty following every devastating war. _

_He was also naturally pale. And now, after that nightmare his skin was as white as a sheet giving him an unnatural glow in the darkness of the apartment._

_His eyes were the worst, though. Sunken in by those nightly terrors and having the haunted gaze of a survivor. There was only pain, loss and emptiness. _

_Erik shook his head and finished cleaning up. He didn't need to see this and he didn't want to._

_He left the bathroom and took a peek at the clock on his bedside table. Four in the morning…_

_With a small sigh he resigned himself to being awake for hours and completely spent in the morning and left for the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water._

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><p><em>Translations:<em>

_ (1) No, not a nightmare. Nightmares aren't real..._

**_My first fanfic ever. So please be kind. I didn't even plan to write anything but I was forced into action by the maddening lack of anything involving Erik and his past with Shaw._**

**_Btw I never read the comics and this story will probably throw canon out the window. But since the movies (especially First Class) have already done that that with amazing efficiency I don't see a problem in that. xD_**

_**Shaw and maybe some Shaw/Erik in later chapters...**  
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